


you know it (but i can say it for you)

by alwaysayes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26610565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysayes/pseuds/alwaysayes
Summary: It was two am, and someone’s dog was barking. Someone’s dog hadbeenbarking. For hours. Enjolras briefly looked up from his computer to roll his eyes- who the hell actually has a dog in an apartment complex? It was inconvenient in so many different ways that he didn’t even know where to begin. The barking was getting louder.(in which there are two gavroches, enjolras is a newpsie, & they communicate their feelings)
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	you know it (but i can say it for you)

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiii so this one goes out to the enjoltaire rights babey server thank u guys for giving me motivation to write again.... the title is from stellate by samia & all of the songs mentioned in the story have the titles attatched if u wanna listen :)) i havent written anything in a hot, hot, second, so its probably incoherent but i hope u enjoy anyway <3

_ a drop in the ocean moved in slow motion / and it hit me out of the blue / i follow blindly however unlikely / that i’d find you / i’d find you / i just knew (here i am - the boxer rebellion) _

_ - _

It was two am, and someone’s dog was barking. Someone’s dog had  _ been  _ barking. For hours. Enjolras briefly looked up from his computer to roll his eyes- who the hell  _ actually  _ has a dog in an apartment complex? It was inconvenient in so many different ways that he didn’t even know where to begin. The barking was getting louder.

He could hear the muffled sound of the person upstairs yelling at the dog, which only made him more aggravated. He wasn’t sure which was more important anymore-the essay he had been working on, or getting his upstairs neighbor and dog to shut the hell up. He shut his laptop and slid on his Crocs, which he begrudgingly accepted from Courfeyrac that year for his birthday. He grabbed his keys, ran a hand through his hair, and decided to go search for the barking- if he wasn’t going to get his essay done, he might as well be productive as a people’s man. He shot a text to Combeferre, telling him where he was going, and that if he died to liquidate his assets for the good of the people.

He could only assume that it was coming from the apartment directly above him, considering nobody else had complained about the noise yet, so he stalked his way up the stairs (because after six months of living there, he was  _ still  _ scared of the elevator) and found apartment 69C. The barking was most  _ definitely  _ coming from there.

He knocked on the door and stood there as the barking got louder. Nobody answered. 

“Shut the fuck  _ up,  _ Gavroche!” He heard someone yelling from behind the door, then another, smaller voice called back, “ _ I’m not even talking _ ,” followed by the first voice replying, “ _ I’m talking about the fucking  _ dog.”

_ Well _ , Enjolras thought.  _ This is going to be interesting. _

The door finally opened.

A scruffy, curly-haired man stood there, holding what was probably the ugliest fucking dog Enjolras had ever seen.

“If this is about Gavroche, I’m so sorry.” He said. He looked absolutely exhausted. 

“I literally did nothing wrong-” The same small voice from earlier said.

“Again, I’m talking about the dog.” The man said, turning around.

“I’m about to fail about half of my classes because of your dog.” Enjolras said, flatly.

“I’m sorry.” The man said. “Isn’t it a little bit late to be working on school, though?”

“Isn’t it a little bit odd to have a dog named after someone you live with?”

“You heard that?”

“I think the entire building did.”

“Listen, I am seriously sorry. We just moved in not too long ago, and our dog is still getting used to it here, I don’t really know what you want me to say.”

“Just get your dog to stop barking.” 

“I’m trying, he’s just not used to being here.” 

Enjolras took a deep breath. This is a situation for the Kind Enjolras. The one that isn’t a polysci student, and pays it forward in the drive-through.

“Sorry for being rude,” He said. “I’m Enjolras. I live in 69B.”

“I’m Grantaire,” The man said. He held up the dog. “This is Gavroche.” 

A teenage boy appeared next to him.

“I’m also Gavroche,” He said. “It gets a little bit confusing sometimes.” 

“I could see that.” Enjolras replied. 

“I really am sorry about the dog.” Grantaire said. 

“It’s alright, I was just being overdramatic. I don’t really want to finish that paper tonight, anyway.”

“Do you want to. Come in? Or something? We haven’t really met any of our neighbors yet.”

“Um,” Enjolras thought about it for a moment. Should he really go into a stranger’s apartment at two in the morning? 

“Sure. Why not.” 

“Okay, just um, come in.” Grantaire said, stepping aside and setting the dog down so Enjolras could walk in. “Can I get you anything to drink or something? I was about to put on a kettle for tea.” 

“Tea’s fine. What kinds do you have?” Enjolras replied, stepping inside and awkwardly digging his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants

“Have you seen Scott Pilgrim?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras briefly remembered Courfeyrac forcing him to watch it.

“Yeah.”

“You remember the scene where Ramona shows Scott all the tea? We have about that many types, too.”

“I’ll just take peppermint, if that’s fine.” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll go start that now, if you wanna come to the kitchen, or you can hang out here with the not-dog Gavroche,  _ who should actually be in bed right now _ .” 

Enjolras heard the quiet tap of feet, and then another person appeared in the living room.

“What’s going on?” She asked, yawning. She had clearly been asleep before this conundrum began, although Enjolras didn’t really understand how anyone could sleep through the god-awful barking.

“This is our downstairs neighbor, Enjolras.” Grantaire said, turning to her. “Enjolras, this is Eponine, my roommate, and human Gavroche’s sister.”

Enjolras nodded. 

“Go back to sleep, Ep. Anyway, follow me to the kitchen, and I guess we can get to know each other.” Eponine turned around and went back to her room with a gentle wave of her hand.

Enjolras nodded again.  _ God, what am I doing? _

They went into the kitchen, where Grantaire set a kettle full of water on the stove and made his way over to the cabinet and pulled out two obviously-handmade mugs. 

“So how long have you lived here?” He asked Enjolras, crossing his arms and leaning up against the counter.

“About six months, give or take a few weeks.” Enjolras replied. He was trying to relax into the situation- copying Grantaire’s movement and leaning against the counter as well. “What about you?”

“We moved in about two weeks ago, I think.”

“Are you liking it here?”

“It’s nice. A lot nicer than some other places we’ve been.” 

Enjolras nodded, and it was quiet except for the soft hum of the stove. Grantaire put the teabags in the mugs.

“So what do you do that keeps you up working at two in the morning?” Grantaire asked.

“I’m a student, uh, at University of Chicago. What about you?”

“I’m an artist. Kind of.”

“Kind of?” 

“I’m not that good.”

“If you call yourself an artist, that has to mean something.”

“Is a man who calls himself a fool truly a fool?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“And you’re a stranger in my kitchen who only came here to yell at me.”

Enjolras went quiet. The kettle started whistling. 

“Sorry,” Grantaire said, after pouring the water in the mugs. “It’s just a touchy subject. I’m a 26 year old, single, art school dropout with a dog named after my best friend’s little brother. My life isn’t exactly a success story.”

“A degree doesn’t determine your worth.”

“You say that like you don’t go to a Baby Ivy.”

“That’s beside the point-”

“It really doesn’t matter. Point is, it’s a touchy subject.” He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out his juul. “Before you say this is gonna kill me, know that I know that already.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Enjolras said stiffly. If he had said something, he would’ve been a hypocrite. 

They stood there again in near silence. Two strangers, illuminated by the overhead light of the stove and the glow of a candle on the window between the kitchen and the living room. It was a peaceful quiet, nothing awkward or heavy, filled with the comfort of the fact that neither of them had something to say. 

The tea was done. 

Grantaire silently handed Enjolras the mug with his tea in it, watching him taste the first sip. Instantly, any and all tension that may or may not have existed within Enjolras melted away. He sighed.

“That good?” Grantaire asked. 

Enjolras nodded, clutching the mug.

“So what else do you do? Besides stay up late and knock on stranger’s doors.” 

“My friends and I run a student organization on campus. We, um, advocate for changes for students who may not have the voices to do so themselves.”  _ We also organize protests and sometimes get arrested _ .

“So you’re an activist?”

“You could say that. My parents don’t really like it, but. If it creates a little bit of good for someone who needs it, then I’m satisfied with what I do.”

“I get that.”

“The world can be full of good, if you let it be.”

“I get where you’re coming from.”

“So you disagree?” Enjolras looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow.

“I just think that the world is a really fucked up place sometimes. And that some things are past the point of getting better, so what’s the point?”

“There’s always space to change things, to improve them-”

“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“And  _ you  _ can’t teach your dog not to bark at two in the morning on a Sunday.” 

“You’re the one deflecting now.”

“I just don’t see the point in chronic cynicism when there are so many ways to improve things.”

“Not everything has to be the perfect leftist fantasy to be good. You have to learn to accept defeat.”

“Defeation and surrendering are not the same thing, Grantaire.”

Enjolras’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

**Combeferre:** Where did you go?

“My roommate is wondering where I am. I should probably head back soon.” 

He was flustered with frustration, and even though he knew that it was impossible to make everyone believe what he believed, he wanted so badly for Grantaire to trust in what he trusted in. He realized that was ridiculous, given that he had met him not even twenty minutes before, but there was something about him; he looked much better in green than Enjolras had ever thought someone could. His hair fell in his face in a way that would have bugged him if it were Courfeyrac. Is that why he wanted him to believe so badly? 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me.”  _ That was mostly a lie.  _ “I just don’t want Combeferre to think that a random stranger with an obnoxiously loud dog killed me.” 

“Oh.” Grantaire sounded disappointed.

“Did I upset you?” Enjolras asked. 

“I just don’t think there’s as much room in this world for idealism as you want there to be.” 

“Then I’ll make room.”

“I believe you, Apollo.” 

Enjolras was caught off guard by that.

“What did you just call me?” 

“Apollo.”

“Why?” 

Maybe he was too tired for the conversation, or maybe his heart was racing because he was scared of being alone with someone he had never met before, but all he knew was that his heart was beating faster than it had in a while.  _ Apollo  _ felt like racing from the cops, or when Combeferre got a fake ID in high school to buy a goldfish.  _ Apollo  _ felt like rolling his eyes but laughing anyway.

“You have that whole hot blond thing going on.” 

“Excuse me?”

Now, not only was his heart racing, but he could feel a blush rising in his face. 

“The whole… hot blond thing.”

“Now it really feels like you’re going to kill me.”

“I’m not trying to objectify you. It was an artistic observation.” 

“An artistic observation?”

“You are someone I don’t think I would mind painting.” 

“Oh.” 

Enjolras’s face grew even hotter, and he set the mug down. 

“I really do need to go, soon.” He said. “My roommate probably thinks I’m dead, I didn’t even tell him I was leaving-”

“Then text him.”

“Oh. That’s. Probably a good idea.”

**Enjolras:** I went to go investigate the source of the barks. 

**Enjolras:** It’s the people in 69C, they’re new. 

**Enjolras:** We’re talking right now, I should be home soon.

**Combeferre:** Okay, just let me know if I should stay up or just go ahead and go to sleep.

**Enjolras:** Just go ahead to sleep, I don’t think he’s going to kill me.

**Enjolras:** And if he does, you’ll hear me scream, even through your loud ass snoring. 

**Combeferre:** Got it, Captain. Goodnight. 

“Okay, we’re good now.” Enjolras said, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“So is your roommate part of your… organization?” Grantaire asked. 

“Yeah, he’s kind of like my second-in-command. He keeps me sane.”

“I get that. I know some people like that.”

“Eponine?” 

“Definitely. I don’t really know if I’d be alive without her. Or Gavroche. Both the dog and the kid.”

Enjolras nodded and they went quiet again. 

“It really is late.” Enjolras said.

“Is it?”

Grantaire looked over at the stove, where the clock read 2:37 AM.

“I guess it is. Do you have to get up early and save the world or something?”

“Not necessarily. I just like my sleep schedule.”

“You like your beauty sleep?” Grantaire teased. Enjolras tried not to smile.

“You could say that.”

“I don’t really sleep.” Grantaire said. “That’s probably why I look like this.” 

He gestured at himself and made a face.

“You’re not ugly by any means.”

“Thank you, corageous leader. It means a lot.” 

“There’s no reason for you to be rude. You’re not unattractive-”

“It is getting late, actually. You should probably go.”

Enjolras set his mug down in defeat. 

“Thank you for the tea. I hope your dog learns to behave.”

He started to walk towards the door, thinking Grantaire would follow him, but the other man just stayed by the counter with his mug in his hands. 

“Goodnight.” Enjolras said, and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

_ God, what the hell just happened?  _

He quietly made his way back to his apartment, wondering he had said something, or if Grantaire was just volatile. He almost hoped the latter, so he could claim it wasn’t his fault.

He unlocked the apartment door to find Combeferre sitting on the couch on his phone, very much not asleep.

“You’re still up?” Enjolras asked, walking in and kicking off his shoes. He moved to sit next to him on the couch.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure how long you were going to be gone. And I couldn’t really sleep tonight.” 

“The guy in 69C is kind of a dick.”

“What happened?”

“I thought things were going well and then we fought.”

“Over what?”

“Politics. Kind of. But also about him. And my beliefs.”

“So you fought with a stranger, but… Not about what you intended to fight him on?”

“It sounds dumb when you say it like that.” 

“Well, if I’m being honest, it all sounds kind of dumb, Enj.”

“I know.” Enjolras sighed.

“You need to stop caring so much about what other people think about you. Especially strangers.”   
“I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

“Are you sure? Did you finish your paper?”

“I didn’t. But that doesn’t really matter, I’m tired anyway.”

“Okay, well. Goodnight. Sleep well.” 

That night, as Enjolras brushed his teeth, he stared in the mirror and wondered about the people in 69C, and as he laid in bed, fell asleep thinking about Grantaire.

-

_ Enjolras (is that how you spell it?)- _

_ Sorry about the dog, and sorry for making you leave. Let me make it up to you?  _

  * _Grantaire, 69C_



-

_ i don't think I cared / but when you're driving in your car one day i hope / the wind sings them to you/ and you'll know i’m here, with my cynical ear / and lost rings to my bow (always you, tiptoeing through - tiny ruins) _

-

“So you left a note on his door?” Eponine said. “Like a regency era suitor?” 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Grantaire replied. “I felt bad, and he obviously felt bad too.”

“So you went to his apartment immediately after he left and left a slightly creepy note on the door?”

“It wasn’t creepy!”

“It sounds creepy to me.” Gavroche chipped in. 

“You’re a sixteen year old boy, I don’t wanna know the things that you  _ don’t  _ find creepy.”

“Shut up.” Gavroche shot back. 

“It’s not creepy to leave a note. It would be creepy if I just never interacted with him again and he spent the rest of his life thinking I was an emotionally volatile weirdo with self esteem issues.”

“Are you not?” Eponine teased. 

“No, I definitely am. But he doesn’t have to know that.” 

“I guess that’s one way to approach this.” 

“Is there any other way?”

“Maybe actually go talk to him instead of just leaving a creepy note at his door.”

“That’s too confrontational-”

“Obviously he’s a very confrontational person. He literally came to our apartment at two in the morning to tell our dog to shut the fuck up.”

“But that doesn’t mean  _ I  _ have to confront him.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Oh, shit.” Gavroche said.

Grantaire went to get the door.

“So, how were you planning on making it up to me?” Enjolras asked. He looked a lot better than he did the night before- his long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he was wearing a faded t-shirt that advertised some bake sale. He looked less tired. Less frustrated, too. He had definitely gotten his beauty sleep.

“I could make up for your lack of sleep by buying you a coffee, if you’ll permit it.” Grantaire said.

“I… I could be okay with that.”

“We could go. Um. Now? If you want?” 

“Sure.”

“Seriously?”

Grantaire’s face lit up with a wide smile, one that looked almost out of place on the face that had spent half an hour scowling at Enjolras the night before. 

“Let me just get dressed and we can go, if you wanna come in for a few minutes.” 

Enjolras hadn’t even realized that Grantaire was still in pajamas.

“Um. Sure I guess.” 

Was he always this flustered around strangers?

Enjolras walked into the apartment as Grantaire stepped aside for him. 

The apartment looked different in the morning light. For people that had been there for such a short time, they looked awfully put together. There was a sign on the living room wall that listed the rules of the house, and Enjolras laughed quietly. Grantaire ran a hand through his hair.

“Those rules are taken very seriously in this house. It’s a fuckin’ sacred space.”

“The first rule says no cursing.”

“You have a point,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “Let me go get dressed, you can hang out here with Gav and Eponine, if you want. Or if you want to see me shirtless-”   
“At least buy me dinner first.”

“Does coffee count?” Grantaire shot back. Enjolras felt his entire body turn red.

“It. Um. It can.”  _ God, what a mess.  _

“Ok, then. It’s a date?” 

Gavroche (not the dog) cleared his throat from the couch. 

“There’s people in here. Trying to watch television.” 

“You’re a spoiled little brat, you know that?” Eponine said back to him. “Ignore him, he’s a teenage boy.”

“So, I guess you’re coming with me, then.” Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’s arm, and surprisingly, was met with no resistance. It was like every muscle in Enjolras’s body, excluding his heart, relaxed at his touch. 

“Okay,” Enjolras said, simply. It almost seemed to him like Grantaire’s hand was made to be clasped around his arm, the soft but calloused skin of his palm slid smoothly against his wrist. 

Grantaire’s room was a sight to behold. It was covered, nearly floor to ceiling, in photographs and paintings. Pictures of Gavroche the Dog. Pictures of Gavroche the Boy. Eponine. People that Enjolras hadn’t met yet. Probably strangers as well. 

Not only were the walls covered in art, but there seemed to be poems surrounding them to. Post-It notes covered in scratchy ballpoint pen ink, hanging by the adhesive strip of the frail paper. The Post-Its were concealing bits and pieces of paintings. Probably things that had been unfinished and would remain so, but Enjolras chose to think they were complete works of art, hidden from human eyes. 

“It’s a mess in here, sorry.” Grantaire said, gently rubbing the back of his neck, almost in shame.

“It’s beautiful in here.” Enjolras said. He sat himself down gently on the bed, taking special care to keep his sneakers from rubbing against Grantaire’s comforter that hung low to the floor.

“It’s not really fit for human consumption, let alone Godly.” 

“Would you stop saying that?” 

Grantaire looked over at him.

“I refuse to omit the truth, Apollo.” 

“I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you to stop lying.”

“We can talk about this later.” 

The assumption that there could be a later piqued Grantaire’s interest, and he shut his mouth.

“Where are we getting coffee, anyway? I haven’t been able to find a good place anywhere around here.” Enjolras asked, leaning a little bit more into Grantaire’s bed. Grantaire took a mental picture to paint it later.

“I know a place.” Grantaire took his sweatshirt off and tossed it on the bed next to Enjolras. The soft material brushed against his bare arm and it smelled like Old Spice and incense. 

Despite what he had led Enjolras to believe, Grantaire had muscles. He was built like a boxer, with strong arms and an even stronger core. He looked cozy in his plaid pajama pants and fuzzy socks.

“Oh. You know a place?” Enjolras tried to seem unaffected.

“It’s owned by a friend-of-a-friend. Of a friend.” 

“I see.” 

“You’re distracting me, Enjolras. All set up in my room like it’s where you belong.”

“That’s awfully bold talk for someone I met less than twelve hours ago.”

This time it was Grantaire’s place to blush. 

“At least let me take a picture of you,” Grantaire said. “Unless that’s weird.”

It felt like Enjolras was seeing another part of Grantaire, even though they were virtually strangers. It was different from the version he had met twelve hours prior, the aggressive, on-edge cynic, willing to pick a fight with anybody who crossed his path. 

“If. If you want to.” Enjolras replied. The moment felt oddly tender, as Grantaire positioned himself in the corner, propped on his desk, and took out a Polaroid camera. The flash hurt Enjolras’s eyes, but he tried not to think about it. 

“There we go.” 

“Now put a shirt on, Grantaire. I need coffee, and you owe it to me.”

“Fine. But I thought you wanted to see me shirtless.” 

“Just hurry. I’m tired.” 

Grantaire reached into a dresser drawer and pulled out a t-shirt. It was black and faded, with shitty old iron-on letters that read “ _ I WAS A TEENAGE ANARCHIST. _ ” 

“Nice shirt.” Enjolras quipped. “I thought you didn’t believe in anarchy.”

“I do. I don’t believe in revolution.” 

“To each their own,” Enjolras said. “Are you gonna change out of those pants, too?”

“Yes. Now close your eyes, so I don’t feel like I’m in a middle school locker room again.” 

“Fine.” Enjolras shut his eyes tightly and heard Grantaire rummaging around the drawers again. After a few moments, Grantaire spoke again. 

“Open.” 

Enjolras opened his eyes.

“Are you ready to go now?” He asked.

“I would’ve left my house in my pajamas for coffee with you.” 

“With slippers, too?”   
“If you asked me to.” 

“You’re intense.” Enjolras said.

“And you’re not?”

“That’s a fair point.” 

“Come on, get up. Let’s go before the college kids rush the place.” 

Enjolras got up. Grantaire grabbed his hand this time, and there was that spark again. It was like all of the strings of fate had tied them together. 

_ Fate _ . It was a peculiar feeling to have about a stranger. It was like all of the strings of fate had tied them together.

When they walked back into the living room, Gavroche the Dog had made a nest in the lap of Gavroche the Boy. Two scrawny, mangy, little creatures. The sight of them together warmed up Enjolras’s heart a little bit. 

“Do either of you guys want anything?” Grantaire asked. He reached for his keys on the hook by the door.

“Something sweet. Don’t get Gav anything, though. He just had Red Bull.” 

“I still want coffee, though!” Gavroche protested. The Dog moved from it’s perch in his lap.

“I’ll get you something if my bank account allows it, kid.”

“I’m not a kid-”

“You can’t even vote, dude.” 

“Neither can convicted felons.” 

“Are you a convicted felon?”

“Not yet.” 

Enjolras stifled a laugh.

“See! He finds it funny!”

“I’ll get you something if he doesn’t.” Enjolras promised The Boy.

“You are a keeper,” Gavroche said back. “You hear that R? A keeper.” 

Grantaire laughed again.

“Come on, Enjolras. Let’s go, before we get anymore from these two.” 

Grantaire opened the door and held it open for Enjolras.

“After you.” 

They walked in silence down the hallway, stairs, and out the door. It was only when they hit the streets that the conversation picked up again.

“You know,” Enjolras said. “You are something else.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re like.. a genuine artist. Not like the rest of the ones I’ve met. On campus, and stuff.” 

“What makes someone a genuine artist?”

“You capture what you see. How you see it. It’s rare.” 

“I think most artists capture what they see.”

“Your art is so much more… golden. I can tell it’s how you see the world.” 

“It’s just how I think. And see, I suppose.” 

“It’s beautiful, Grantaire. It really is.”

They both went silent again and walked along the road for a few minutes. The noises of the city buzzed around them, and something about it felt comfortably uncomfortable. Enjolras quite liked the feeling of the city, and he had come to like it more in his time there, but there was something about walking by Grantaire’s side that made his heart buzz like a honeybee.

“This is it.” Grantaire said after a few minutes of quietly walking. They had bumped shoulders a few times, like something out of an early-2000s rom-com that he had watched with Gavroche.

It was a quaint little cafe, with classic neon lettered signage & little round tables. It was somewhere Grantaire’s old roommate had recommended him- one of her friends’s family owned it. 

“It’s cute.” Enjolras said. From anybody else, in any other moment, it would have felt sarcastic, but from Enjolras, standing outside of what had become Grantaire’s second home on his hungover mornings, it felt like God’s word.

They walked in, and Enjolras held the door this time. The barista perked up at the sight of the two of them.

“Morning, R!” She said. 

“Morning, Chetta.” He smiled.

“I assume you’re getting the usual?”

“Yeah. That and whatever Ep and Gav normally gets. And, uh, whatever he wants.” Grantaire gestured vaguely to Enjolras

“Could I just get a vanilla latte with oatmilk?” 

“Of course.” The barista, who Enjolras assumed was Chetta, seemed ,very much like someone Grantaire would know.

“That’s gonna be $17.37, R.”

“Perfect.” Grantaire reached for his wallet and swiped his card faster than Enjolras could even grab his own. “I told you it’s on me, Enjolras. Uno kept you up.” 

“Uno?” Enjolras scrunched his face in confusion.

“Gavroche One. The Dog. Uno.” 

“Is… the dog older than the boy?”

“No, I just think it’s funny.” 

“Y’all’s coffees will be out in a few, I can run them to you.” Chetta said. Grantaire nodded and the two of them made their way to a table.

“So you’re here a lot?” Enjolras asked. 

“Yeah. My friend Bossuet showed it to me. Chetta’s parents actually own the place.” 

“That’s… really cool.” Enjolras said.

“Yeah. I’ve been getting the same drink for about a year now.” 

“Of course.”   
“Yeah.” 

It was silent again.

“So tell me more about Uno.” Enjolras said. He leaned on the table a little bit, putting his elbows flat and his palms under his chin.

“We found him here, actually. We didn’t realy have a name for him at first, but then it seemed kind of fitting that Gavroche and The Dog were both mangy little street rats that I took in.”

“So why is The Dog number one, and not… The Boy?”

“He looks a little bit like an old man. He’s got gray around his eyes.”

“Oh, okay. I think I get it now. You take in a lot of strays?”

“Kind of. It’s more like they take me in.”

“What do you mean?”

Chetta interrupted them with a cupholder with all of their coffees. 

“There you go,” She said. “You two enjoy, and have a good day.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said. Grantaire smiled.

“It’s a long story.” Grantaire said, scrunching his face up just a little bit. “Like a really long story.”

“Well my day is free today, if you want to tell it.” 

“I think that I’ll save that for another day. However, I would love to know how you decided you wanted to save the world.” 

“That’s also  _ definitely  _ a long story.”

“We have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

And so Enjolras dove into the tale of his radicalization, the teenage anarchy, his mini-revolutions, and anything else he could think of.

“I just really want to help people. Specifically the people that… aren’t like me. The people that were raised without nannies and cooks and ACT prep classes- not that I’m not grateful for all the things my parents gave me- I just think that it shouldn’t be a standard to be upper class. And I think that our generation can help change that. The class divide is higher than ever, and I know so many people that went to the same prep school as me on scholarships that were excluded or given unfair treatment because of their economic status. It’s just fucked to me.”

“I get that.” Grantaire said. He understood more than Enjolras knew. 

“So that’s really why I want to help. I want to help kids understand that they’re not alone, or less than, just because they come from a lower or working class background. It’s really important to me.”

“As one of those kids, it’s important to me, too.”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire for a moment, and Grantaire looked back. He reached his hand across the table and linked his fingers with Grantaire’s.

“You are something special.” He said. “You’re more golden than you know.” 

“You are a raging idealist. But given the chance, after knowing you for less than day, I would black your boots.” 

“Not because you feel obligated to, though? Right?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire laughed, and whatever tension had been there dissipated into thin air like latte foam melting into the espresso.

-

_ sometimes when we are walking / i can only mention trees / and you laugh and say / “i love the way / you need to point out everything you see” (patience - adult mom) _

_ - _

From there, the two of them fell into a routine. Notes on doors. Late nights at Grantaire’s, lazing around in bed like a pair of old cats. Coffee in the morning. A large americano for Grantaire, a small vanilla oatmilk latte for Enjolras, and whatever Eponine and Gavroche the Boy asked for (as well as occasionally a puppy-cup for Gavroche the Dog). It was simple, and it was lovely. 

There was something magical about the mornings they would spend at the Musain. Golden sunlight streamed through the large windows, catching the green of Grantaire’s eyes in a way Enjolras wouldn’t have noticed at night. The coffee was always good, too. But he didn’t even really like coffee that much, he just stuck around for Grantaire. 

“You know,” Grantaire said one morning. “I see the face you make every time you sip your drink when we come here. You can get something else, I will not judge. Scouts honor.”

“There is no way you were ever a scout.” Enjolras said back. “And the coffee is fine.”

“I see the faces you make- you can’t deny your own face.”

“I can, and I will.”

“You are so stubborn sometimes.”

“Fine.” Enjolras said. He scowled a bit. “I just don’t want to be a nuisance and order something that takes a longer time.”

“You could never be a nuisance.” Grantaire said.

“Say that to my criminal record.” 

“That is a completely different topic, but if we want to get into it I can definitely tell you that mine is worse. Without a doubt.” 

“I believe you. You’re like a rascal in green.”

“A rascal?”

“A rascal.” Enjolras nodded.

“You’re ridiculous.” Grantaire said with a laugh. 

That was probably the best part of the little dance they had choreographed- everything had a time and a place and a meaning. Mornings were for coffee and afternoons were for themselves, the evening was spent with their ankles tangled under Grantaire’s bedding, and every night, one of them would internally debate on kissing the other. 

It wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed before. Technically. Grantaire kissed Enjolras on the crown one evening, in a particularly teasing argument about him being a boy king. Enjolras had kissed Grantaire on the cheek to shut him up. But if they were going about it the old-fashioned way, which they realized they were, a real, true kiss needed to wait for a moment that it truly mattered. Something explosive. A grand gesture of some type. Or something like that. 

So it, inevitably, was a lazy night the night that they first kissed. They had actually watched a movie in the living room of 69C with both Gavroches and the only Eponine, and Enjolras was tired.

“I’m actually getting kind of sleepy,” He said, yawning.

“No, you’re not.” Grantaire said. “Sleep is liberal propaganda to advocate for a shorter work day.”

“I hate you,” Enjolras said, shoving his arm. “Can I nap in your bed? Combeferre has some big video conference thing going on right now and I don’t wanna bug him by coming home.”   
“So this  _ is  _ part of your leftist agenda?” 

“Kind of.”

“Your leftist agenda is just to cuddle up to me and take naps in my room?”

“As of right now, yes.”

“Then let us fulfill your dirty little liberal agenda, and take a nap.”

Sometimes, Enjolras was convinced that Grantaire’s bed was thirty times more comfortable than his own. It was a queen size mattress with soft black sheets and an even softer black comforter, but Enjolras thought that the softest thing in the bed each night may actually be Grantaire. He looked so small when he slept that it was like his entire life was washed away into a dream. His eyelashes fell soft on his cheekbones, and his nose nestled in Enjolras’s neck like it was made to be there. They fit together like two pieces of a very odd puzzle. Enjolras’s family vacation-tanned skin contrasted Grantaire’s soft pale in a way that just worked, and their hands locked together like the Gods had to seperate them when they made mankind. Enjolras slept very well next to him, almost better than he had in any other bed. It had nothing to do with the bed.

Enjolras laid next to Grantaire that night, tracing the small of his back.

“You are lovely.” He said. It was the closest thing he could get out to how he really felt.

“You are golden.”

The photo Grantaire had taken of Enjolras the very first morning was taped to the wall, right next to a photo of Gavroche The Dog, with a Post-It of his (new) tea order. It was something so small and domestic for a pair that had only known each other for a handful of weeks, but something about them, even before the Post-It notes and dancing around each other, was intense enough that they felt drawn to each other. 

Grantaire never believed in soulmates. It was a romanticized concept of a romanticized person who was supposed to find all of your shitty traits attractive, and the idea of someone finding everything about you perfect just felt… incomplete. So he would put up a fight, and Enjolras would bite back. It was a constant tug of war for the upper hand, but it was never bad. Every argument ended with another Post-It note, and every Post-It note ended with a coffee date, and every coffee date ended like this- curled up under Grantaire’s black comforter under a sky full of infnite Post-It constellations and photographs of the small, golden things in life. 

When Grantaire loved, he loved with every part of himself. It overtook him, body and soul. It was an intense thing, a bloody monster of affection. In spite of this, distance created barriers he could not cross- physical or emotional. He was overwhelmed with the urge to hold, the urge to touch, the urge to kiss. 

Enjolras got a phone call that night. It was taken in the bathroom, hushed, quiet, under his breath. Grantaire tried not to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to when every noise ricocheted off the drywall like a gunshot. He heard quiet whispers from the bathroom as Enjolras spoke.

“Back to Newport?” He said. Pause. “I’m not trying to argue.” Pause. “Okay. I guess. Just send me the flight information.” Pause. “Goodnight, Mother.” 

He burst back in to Grantaire’s room, his eye twitching, both from frustration and lack of sleep. His nap had lasted about five minutes before his phone rang.

“I have to go to Newport tomorrow,” He said. “My mother claims it’s a family emergency, but I think she just needs me to help her get the Gen Z vote. She is un-fucking-believable.” 

He flopped back onto the bed, trying to curl under the covers. He screamed a little bit into the pillow, and Grantaire gently placed his hand at the base of his skull, rubbing in small circles in an attempt to calm him down. 

“You like California, don’t you?”

“It’s Newport fucking Beach,” Enjolras said. “I don’t really know.”

“What’s the matter with it?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras rolled over a little bit and looked at Grantaire.

“It’s home.” He said. “And I’m not ready to go back home.” 

“Tell them that, Enjolras.” Grantaire said. “And if they don’t understand, then it isn’t really home.”

“Then I don’t have a home.” 

“This could be your home. Chicago. All of it.”

“I just really, really, do  _ not _ want to go back. Even for the weekend.” 

“It can’t be that bad. It’s nice and sunny, and there’s plenty of rich people you can make fun of.”

“I just don’t want to go back there and have to be the person that I used to be. Or the person that my parents want me to be. I’m not like them. At all.” 

“I know.” Grantaire said. Enjolras moved to lay his head on Grantaire’s chest. He was small in that moment, smaller than he had ever been. This was not the golden haloed man that Grantaire had met a few weeks before, this was a child, scared of his own shadow. They lay there, quietly, the only sound between the two of them was the rise and fall of their chests.

“It’ll be okay,” Grantaire said after a few minutes. “I’ll be a phone call away-”

“I still don’t even have your number.” Enjolras mumbled.

“Give me your phone.” 

Enjolras wiggled his phone out of his pocket.

“What’s your passcode?” 

“1-8-3-2.” 

“I’m adding myself to your contacts.”

Enjolras nodded. He watched Grantaire snap a picture for his contact photo. 

“There. Now, I’m a phone call away.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras said. “I should probably go, I guess. I have a flight to catch at six.” 

“You can stay, if you’d like.” Grantaire replied. He handed Enjolras back his phone.

“I have to pack a bag, R.” 

“Oh,” Grantaire said. “I kind of forgot about that.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry you have to go.” 

“It is what it is, I guess.” 

“Still.” 

“I need to go.” Enjolras said. He was frowning, and a deep groove furrowed into the space above his eyebrows.

“Want me to walk you back?” 

“Yeah.” 

They crawled out of Grantaire’s bed and got ready to go, again in the quiet. They shared a lot of quiet moments. There was something about the solitude of being near the ones who care about you the same way you care about them that they both reveled in. 

They walked, still, quietly to Enjolras’s apartment. 

“You can stay, if you’d like. Here.” Enjolras said to Grantaire at the door. 

“I don’t want to intrude, I know you’re stressed-”

Enjolras pulled Grantaire close, standing there in the hallway, until their chests were flush against each other, and kissed him.    
“I want you to stay.” 

“Oh.” Grantaire stood there for a moment, caught offguard and in the moment. 

“Are you gonna come in?” Enjolras asked. He had moved away and started to unlock the door.

“Yeah. I am.” Grantaire was dumbstruck. Their lips had fit so perfectly together for the moment they were connected, the same way that fingers are sometimes meant to be locked. 

“Good.” Enjolras smiled. “Combeferre might still be on his call, so we may need to be quiet.” 

Grantaire nodded, and they walked in. Combeferre sat at the kitchen table with his headphones in, and Enjolras nodded as they walked in. Combeferre’s eyes went wide at the sight of Grantaire. He gave a small wave in his direction. 

“Hey, I’ll actually be right back, my roommate just got home.” He said. It was Grantaire’s turn, again, to be surprised. Combeferre took his headphones out and got up. 

“I’m Combeferre. You must be Grantaire. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He extended out his hand to Grantaire. Enjolras’s face went red.

“All bad things, I’m assuming?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras shot him a look.

“Only about your dog.” Combeferre laughed. 

“I have to go back to Newport in the morning.” Enjolras told Combeferre. 

“Shit, again?” 

“I haven’t been since last Christmas. My mom said it’s a family emergency but wouldn’t tell me for what, so I can only assume it’s some campaign event.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“Yeah. My flight’s at like, six, or something.” 

“Shit, that’s early. You heading to bed, then?”

Enjolras nodded.

“Well, goodnight then. I’ll see you when you get back. It was nice to meet you, Grantaire.”

“Likewise.” 

“Night, Ferre.” Enjolras said. He took Grantaire by the hand and led him to his bedroom, which he hadn’t realized that Grantaire had never seen. Enjolras’s bedroom was the polar opposite of Grantaire’s. It was neat, and everything had a place. His desk was free of clutter, and the only thing that sat there besides his computer and his lamp was a photo of him, Combeferre, and someone that Grantaire could only assume was Courfeyrac. He had red bedsheets and pillows and a white comforter. It was so very Enjolras that Grantaire wanted to laugh. 

“So this is it?” He asked. “This is where you sulk when you aren’t at my place?” 

“Pretty much.” 

Grantaire sat down on the bed as Enjolras reached underneath and pulled out a suitcase. He started pulling clothes from his closet and gently packing them, taking extra care with his shirts. 

“So you’re sure you want me to stay?’ Grantaire asked. It was a new step in this, something he hadn’t really anticipated. It was the middle ground of something lovely and forbidden. 

“Yes.”

“You’re positive?” 

Enjolras stopped his packing for a moment and glanced over at Grantaire. 

“I never do things I’m not positive about,” Enjolras said. “It’s silly to waste time on being unsure. Everything is a yes or a no, and if it’s a no, I just don’t do it.” 

“So, I’m a yes?” Grantaire asked, half-joking.

“I think you’ve been a yes since I met you.”

“You think? Or I am?”   
“You’re a yes. One hundred percent.”

“If I were to distract you from your packing, would that be a yes?”

“I can pack in the morning.”

“So if I were to pull you down into this bed and not let go until you need to get up in the morning, would that be a yes?”

Enjolras thought for a moment.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. Grantaire smiled at him, and pulled him down by the arm with a laugh. 

“You’re special.” Grantaire said, as Enjolras wormed his way onto Grantaire’s chest. 

“You are too.” Enjolras said. The rise and fall of Grantaire’s chest had come to soothe him in the last few weeks, it was a constant, low thrum in the back of his head, even when he wasn’t around. 

“It’s weird.” Grantaire said. 

“What’s weird?”

“Mattering to someone. You care about me, and I care about you, and we don’t need words for it. I wait for you, and you wait for me. You buy my best friend’s little brother coffee. You don’t question my dog’s name past what’s reasonable. You argue with me but it doesn’t hurt when we disagree. You want me to stay the night.”

“You are more important than you know.” Enjolras said. It was weirdly tender coming from his mouth. He was never really one to talk about his feelings the way Grantaire did.

“You are… something else.” Grantaire said, after a moment.

“You could tell that I didn’t really like coffee, and you didn’t say anything, because you thought coffee was what kept me around. But it was never about the coffee. It was about you, and all of the wonder you’ve brought into my life since we met. The Post-it notes, and paintings, and photographs, and your bed, and the way you breathe when I fall asleep on you during a movie. It was about you and your dog, and your heart, and the way we can actually agree to disagree, and the way you never actually call me my name-”

It was Grantaire’s turn to kiss him. 

“You’re too much, Apollo.” 

“You’re more than enough.” 

It was like saying  _ I love you,  _ without saying it outright. They heard a bark from upstairs.

“Fucking  _ Gavroche _ .” Grantaire said.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said. “Gavroche.”

-

_ “i’ll hold you from your small / how bout that how bout that / you made me medium tall / ill make you feel good again / you made your car a vacuum / you pulled over, too / so when you let me out / i owed my life to you” (stellate - samia) _

**Author's Note:**

> hit my line on tumblr (czerny182) or twitter (consumemywine) !!


End file.
